


Yours, Mine, Ours

by msspook



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9503111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msspook/pseuds/msspook
Summary: Otabek blinked himself back into the conversation and turned towards Viktor. Without thinking, against what he tried his hardest to keep from happening, he inquired-“Your Yuuri’s, or my Yuri’s?”-In which Otabek has always been careful not to use Viktor's "My Yuuri/Your Yuri" reference system but indulges in the habit on Live television, and Yuri has a damn heart attack.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](http://selenityshiroi.tumblr.com/post/156265084389/headcanon-that-whenever-victor-talks-to-otabek-he) tumblr post! beta'd by the wonderful [snow_falls](http://archiveofourown.org/users/snow_falls)

The coffee shop was a little too loud for Otabek’s taste. He supposed that it was to be expected. There didn’t seem to be many stores in this area of the city that weren’t bustling with people; businessmen, students, friends, tourists… The list surely could wind on and on. Viktor’s distinctive voice cut through all of it, and that was the important part. Instead of focusing in on the incessant chattering around them, a firestorm of Russian he didn’t quite catch and English he didn’t care enough to internalize, he tuned into Viktor's chattering.

“-my Yuuri doesn’t really mind, but I know that _your_ Yuri definitely would,” Viktor was saying, something about coffee preferences, he thought. Otabek wasn’t sure when the difference had been made between Viktor’s Yuuri and _hi_ s Yuri. Well, he _did-_

He distinctly remembered when Yuri had become his boyfriend, as well as the kiss that had warmed his chest, and fingertips when it happened. And no one _forgot_ the very public forthcoming of Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship, live on television. Even if the angle had been odd, as they were there for sportsmanship and _not_ for a rom-com style kiss, everyone had been very certain after watching the Cup of China that Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri were very soundly an exclusive item. Some people had evidently known before, had hunches of what was going on or had been around Viktor and Yuuri enough to just _know_.

Otabek had no reason to surround himself with Viktor and Yuuri at the time and had elected not to listen to the gossip of other skaters.

Now it was sort of impossible not to. The longer he was around the likes of Yuri, Viktor, and Yuuri, the more he was subjected to chatter about other people’s lives.

 _Chatter_ , it seemed, was inescapable at this rate.

“Katsuki wouldn’t complain if you brought him a half-empty bottle of water instead of his coffee,” Otabek offered, expression rather straight as per usual, though there was a hint of teasing to his tone. He was sure Viktor was accustomed to it at this point, able to pick up on the teasing quality.

“Mhm, but your Yuri would have a fit. He’s become a prima ballerina through and through because of Lilia! Sometimes I think he’s taking it too far but my Yuuri says he’s just growing into it.”

“It’s been four years since he started working under Lilia,” Otabek replied dryly. If Yuri was going to do more levelling out and lose the diva edge, it would have happened a long time ago. It wouldn’t suit him as well, anyway.

Viktor laughed, head tipping backward as he shuffled forward in the line. “That’s true. I suppose he’ll be like that forever, huh?”

Otabek wouldn’t want him any other way.

\--

“They’re not possessions, you know,” Otabek cut in after a moment. His eyes moved over to Viktor from where they had been focused before, following Yuri as he skated. Yuuri was on the ice helping him work through the step sequence Lilia had crafted. It was complex, certainly, but up to Yuri’s high standards. Otabek knew he would sooner take a skate to the shin rather than admit it was a little more difficult than he had initially thought. They had been at it for a long time now.

“Hmm?” Viktor hummed lazily, looking over to Otabek for a brief moment before he looked back out onto the ice.

“Yuri and Yuuri.”

“Yuuri and Yuri?”

Otabek nodded. “You call Katsuki ‘your’ Yuuri, and Yuri ‘my’ Yuri. But we don’t have ownership over them,” he reasoned thoughtfully. Something about that made Viktor laugh. The abruptness of the other man’s amusement startled the Kazakh for a moment, before he settled in against the boards. “I wasn’t sure at first if it was just a linguistics thing,” Otabek continued, before shaking his head. “It feels odd.”

“How else are we ever going to talk about the two of them out loud?” Viktor asked with a tilt of his head, looking back out to the ice. “I can’t call my Yuuri by his last name; it’s weird, he’s my fiancé. And, whenever I call your Yuri ‘Yurio’, you give me that look- ah, yes! That one!” Viktor insisted with a grin, turning his sights back towards the other man. Otabek had hardly noticed the pinch in his brows, or the way his jaw shifted in annoyance. He knew that the nickname Yuri had earned in Japan had never been a favourite of his boyfriend. Otabek made a point not to use it, and even more so to discourage it. The facial response was seemingly automatic now.

He was silent for a moment, considering Viktor’s argument. He wasn’t _wrong_ . It would be impossible to try and talk about the two of them in the same breath, and it was something that happened often. They couldn’t very well just _stop_ talking about them. It was one of the few things they had in common.

“It works for me,” Viktor offered, “I know that Yuuri is his own person, and I’d _never_ be stupid enough to think for a minute that Yuri would have someone own him – unless he’s into that sort of thing-“

“Watch it,” Otabek interjected in gentle warning, and he was met with a glimmering smile. It was becoming easier to see how Viktor always got his way.

“What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to refer to them like that. Keep calling my Yuuri by Katsuki and your Yuri by Yuri. I know what you mean. But I think the habit is so ingrained at this point, I wouldn’t be able to snap myself out of it. Just know I don’t mean anything wrong by it. I love them both. Differently, of course, but very much all the same.”

Otabek’s attention was drawn back out to the ice when there was a round of shouting followed by nervous laughter. He hadn’t caught enough of the exchange to know what was going on, but he saw the way that Yuri’s eyes were lit up in annoyance and determination in a beautiful breed that lived only in him. He felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards, the ghost of a smile emerging. Katsuki was rapidly apologizing and justifying something, putting space between Yuri and himself.

“Ah, it never lasts for long, but they’re cute when your Yuri lets them get along,” Viktor chuckled, slipping off his blade guards before he took to the ice. “Come on, boys! Break it up,” he whined, gliding over and sliding his arms around Katsuki before pulling him backward in an easy glide, holding the smaller Japanese man firmly against his chest as he tugged him away from the blond.

There was a loud string of profanities in Russian hurled towards Viktor. Coincidentally, some of the Russian that Otabek was most familiar with at this point.

The sight made his smile a little fuller, by Otabek standards. He would have never quite imagined that this would be his life. He was thankful.

\--

It had been a remarkable surprise to Otabek that when a magazine had asked to do an interview with both Yuri and Yuuri, Yuri had agreed without too much argument. Viktor had been enthralled with the idea thoroughly, and with a little prompting, Yuuri had seemed to find the charm in the idea too. It made sense; sharing such a similar name and being headliners of the figure skating world. For a long time, since Yuri’s senior debut and Yuuri’s comeback, people had been interested in the unique dynamic between them.

Otabek was sort of excited to see the end product. Maybe more excited for the photoshoot more than anything. He wouldn’t admit that out loud, however. It was the sort of thing that didn’t need to be shared far and wide.

“Do you think they’ll do cute poses? Like partners in crime?”

Viktor, though…

Viktor had been fawning over the possible results loudly for the past forty-five minutes as they stood in the Nikiforov-Katsuki kitchen and prepared dinner for when the two skaters returned from their engagements. He continued yammering on a mile a minute, and Otabek let him. Trying to stop him was futile, and frankly, he didn’t care to. A hopeless romantic through and through, though Yuri might complain about the cliché nature, Otabek would gladly listen to Viktor’s tangents about Katsuki.

The nice thing about Viktor’s enthusiasm, as well, was that it was self-sustaining. He could surely go for hours with limited prompting, so long as the subject of his fawning was of enough interest.

And Otabek was quite sure nothing was as interesting to Viktor as Yuuri was.

“-oh, it’d be cute!” Viktor’s voice cuts in again, and Otabek paused from where he had been chopping up vegetables. Otabek hummed to signal he agreed with whatever the entire thought had been. “I just hope they aren’t bothering your Yuri too much. They definitely like to pester him, huh? He’s good at dealing with it, at least,” Viktor continued rambling thoughtfully.

“I don’t think you could survive at Yakov’s rink for a moment if you were weak to pestering,” Otabek commented, resuming his task.

“Very true. He’s good at doing it right back. But Lilia’s trained him too, in a way. He used to be awful with press – with _everyone_ , really. It makes sense that he would get better at it as you get older. As he met more people he got better at dealing people. Even managed to snag his first _boyfriend_ ,” Viktor cooed, leaning in to knock elbows with Otabek teasingly. The gesture, while not necessarily welcomed, was not met with resistance from the Kazakh, though he paused again in the pursuit of preparing dinner.

When Otabek didn’t reply to the train of thought, Viktor let out a dreamy sigh and went back to helping with dinner preparations. The Russian followed behind and tidied as Otabek went, and at some point departed to set the table. It had been decided that a proper, sit-down dinner would be nice rather than crowding around the television as per their usual Saturday routine, which Otabek had been welcomed into as he came to settle in St Petersburg as well. He almost couldn’t remember a time where his Saturdays weren't spent like this.

“In case Yuri forgot to mention it to you,” Otabek started up conversation after a while spent in comfortable silence. He leaned against the counter, and Viktor perked up like a dog being beckoned. There was something charming about that. “We got a call back about the invitations for the wedding – the concepts are finalized, now. So Yuri and I will be going to pick the samples up tomorrow, around noon.” Yuri was Viktor’s best man at the wedding, as many had anticipated. And so, with Phichit still being in Thailand and the _other_ best man, Otabek had been helping him with the necessary duties.

“Oh, _great_ ,” Viktor said, and his tone indicated that it was anything _but_ great. “He and I already had plans to go and see the floral arrangements. Besides, he knows that we have a meeting with the planner too, to start looking into our suits,” he lamented, pressing a hand to his forehead as he walked over to the wedding calendar. It hung on the wall just outside of the kitchen, next to the regular calendar. Otabek had thought it was excessive until he realized just how many dates there were to remember.

He started to backtrack quickly before Viktor had a meltdown. It had been a long time since the last, and everyone involved in planning was trying to uphold the streak.

“No, my Yuri, Viktor,” Otabek said firmly, speaking quickly to avoid the impending transformation of Viktor fabulous skater, to a wallowing groom. And, before Otabek had to hear again about how their wedding would never happen because there was too much to do. He had heard this topic before; it was a sort of pitiful, sort of hilarious display. Either way, it was something Otabek would rather not witness again if he could avoid it.

It wasn’t until Viktor paused, turning with a grin on his lips that he realized what he said entirely. There was a beat of silence that passed between them, Viktor grinning like a satisfied maniac and Otabek stared back with his brows knit, and his borrowed _‘kiss the chef’_ apron hanging around his neck.

“ _Your_ Yuri?” Viktor drew out the word pointedly, tilting his head. Otabek steeled himself.

“Yuri Plisetsky. Not Katsuki,” Otabek offered as synonyms, trying to detract from the hell storm he _knew_ was coming. Viktor just kept grinning, and he would be lucky to get out alive now.

“Otabek!” Viktor launched forward with a laugh, hands grasping Otabek’s shoulders as he peered down at him. The Kazakh nearly groaned, but instead kept his silence and peered back at the taller man. He wondered how many ways there were to get out of this situation that kept his dignity intact. Not many, it seemed, and so he stayed put in the half-embrace. “I knew that you would cave eventually. It’s okay! You’re allowed to be romantic around me, you know!”

“It was just a lapse in thinking,” Otabek offered, although he had to admit that something about it felt nice. His Yuri. He still adamantly believed that boyfriends were _far_ from possessions. But, there was a sense of pride there too. Something primal. Something he didn’t linger on too long. “Anyway, the invitations-“ he tried.

“Oh, come on,” Viktor chided, “We’re practically going to be brothers! You can relax around me, get sappy! Be in love, Otabek! Otabuddy. Ota _brother_ -“

They were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, it sounded like salvation.

“Nikiforov, stop being a fucking creep.” Yuri’s voice came from the direction of the door as he and Yuuri shuffled inside, leaving their shoes and taking off their thin coats. Otabek was able to get a look at him over Viktor’s shoulder, the Russian man still hanging onto him, and his tension over the current situation fell away. Then went straight back up, when he remembered what Viktor had been pestering him about to begin with.

“I’m not!” Viktor threw over his shoulder, before looking back to Otabek seriously, and gave him a wink. There was a lot conveyed in it, but Otabek had to assume the majority of it was a ‘safe with me’ sort of gesture. He relaxed, perhaps visibly, and Viktor released him from his hold and went off towards-

“Yuuri!”

There was a sort of stumbling that Otabek didn’t see, surely from Viktor latching himself onto Katsuki as he came into the house. His attention was more acutely taken up by Yuri – _his_ Yuri – as he came over into the kitchen, peering into the pot on the stovetop nearby.

“It smells good,” he commented, a hand pressed into the counter as he leaned over the pot. Then fond green eyes were looking over at Otabek, who had relaxed substantially from the intensity that was an excited, heart-warmed Viktor.

“It should be finished soon. We got sidetracked – Viktor got sidetracked. So we’re a bit behind,” Otabek offered in reply, glancing towards the time displayed on the microwave. Yuri offered up a shrug and seemed to glide over. The blonde’s arms slid around his waist and, despite the height he now maintained over Otabek, Yuri stooped in order to tuck his face into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.

“I’m never doing a magazine again,” Yuri mumbled lazily, leaning heavily into the other. Otabek’s hands rested on Yuri’s hips, lifting his chin so Yuri could nuzzle in as far as he wanted to. Yuri said that after every sort of press endeavour. Never doing another interview, never doing another sponsorship, never going to another charity gala, never making another morning show appearance…

“It’s done now,” Otabek offered simply. Over, finished; Yuri wouldn’t have to think about it again until his devoted fanbase got hold of the photographs and text. Then it would be time to revisit, but for now-

“I looked good at least,” Yuri remarked, lips pressing smoothly near the base of Otabek’s neck before he straightened himself.

“I like your hair like that,” Otabek said, hand lifting from Yuri’s hip to instead play with the ends of Yuri’s hair, which cascaded towards his lower back after years of letting it grow. It tumbled in loose waves, in an effortless style that Otabek knew must have taken hours to get just so. Sections towards the front were braided back so you could see Yuri’s face clearly, simple makeup still on from the photoshoot. He looked great, though he always did.

There was a hum that drew from Yuri’s chest and Otabek basked in the sound for a moment, the warmth of the tone, before Viktor’s voice broke in. It was a nice reprieve while it lasted.

“Awww, I remember when you two were too shy to even hold hands around other people,” Viktor chimed, sliding his way into the kitchen to check on the food, nearby on the stove. Clearly too close in their moment for Yuri to ignore him any longer, the blonde withdrew and Otabek let him, hands releasing the other.

“Piss off, Viktor,” Yuri grumbled, shooting a look at the older man, which seemed to only please Viktor further. “We at least have fucking limits in front of other people.” He had a point there, Otabek decided. The affection between himself and Yuri was certainly quieter; less about bold and public declarations, hanging off of each other wherever they went.

Their romance was more about private moments, and the little gestures that they had become so attuned to over the past few years. The way Yuri would shoot him a look when someone said something stupid in public that amused the blond. The way Otabek would flash the smallest of grins when something endearing crossed his mind. Sitting together in the evenings, book in hand for Otabek and Instagram open for Yuri, just letting the hours melt away.

Their own sort of romance; subtle, quiet, and cautious.

Everything his Yuri wasn’t, Otabek observed, as the fiery Russian delivered a weak slap to the side of Viktor’s head as the older continued to tease.

Everything Yuri wasn’t - for everyone but him, at least.

\--

It became a habit, ingrained in his conversations with Viktor to use the ‘my Yuri/your Yuuri’ system as time wore on. It sped things up, there was a little less thinking and attention behind it. Always cautious, though, Otabek avoided using it around Yuri at all costs. He wasn’t entirely sure how the other would respond to being referred to in such a style. He had always snorted in contempt when Viktor referred to Yuuri as ‘his’. Otabek knew his fear was only partly justified, but he would rather not be on the receiving end of one of those snorts.

Not that it was hard. Otabek had always been a ‘think before speaking’ sort of man, and even Yuri hadn’t changed him in that sense. He was less hesitant to speak his mind, certainly, but always thoughtful of what exactly he put out there.

It was made even easier when there were a few countries separating them.

Travelling without Yuri was something that they had come to accept long ago. Their friendship had been built on long distance, sustained by the occasional visit during the off-season. The beginning of their relationship too had been crafted with care through Skype calls, FaceTime, Snapchat, and sending memes back and forth. Therefore, when their assignments for the Grand Prix qualifiers were less than ideal, it hadn’t been _too_ hard to separate from each other. Nothing like the drawn-out, mournful separation of Viktor and Yuuri. Watching that, you might have assumed one of them was off to death row.

Otabek didn’t have Yuri alongside him, though he did have Viktor. It was nice having a friend along, as he had become rather accustomed to having _some_ form of companionship after years of adjusting to it. Things didn’t need to feel so solitary anymore.

 

> **yura:** this live coverage sucks christ
> 
> **yura:** maybe if it wasn’t so busy sucking fucking dick i would be able to see things without all this lag
> 
> **yura:** why are there so many stupid commercials
> 
> **yura:** and the commentators are annoying i wish i was just there fuck this tv

Unable to stop himself from grinning at his phone as he stood off to the sides, he took a few moments to text back and forth with Yuri about the qualms he was having with the internet, how annoying it was for Yuri to not have him around as a pillow – so on and so forth. He could only bear to put his phone away when they neared his program. The lag on the stream certainly made it seem as though there was more time than Yuri realized, but it was a merely a quick _‘love you kick ass_ ’ once Otabek said he had to go, and one text Yuri later on.

Simple words, but words that worked.

Otabek hadn’t been anticipating to get gold, and he didn’t. Viktor stood in the centre of the podium with the glistening medal around his neck, and no one pretended to be surprised. Otabek took silver, Seung-Gil seemed vaguely content with his bronze. The announcers continued pouring in their praise for Viktor, and it wasn’t an unfamiliar scene.

Despite his age, practically unheard of for a skater now, Viktor was still an unstoppable force on the ice. He was the epitome of what they wanted, and so his continued dominance of the sport wasn’t surprising even with his season-long break four years ago. Though, there had been plenty of instances where Yuri and Yuuri continued to outshine him. Otabek too had once placed over the other. It had been by a hair, but still a satisfying moment for the so-called ‘dark horse’ skater.

The two of them made their way off of the ice, Viktor slinging an arm gleefully around Otabek’s shoulder as they came off. Blade guards on and coaches hovering, the post-podium high was certainly still a novel feeling for Otabek. He worked hard to be where he was, and it hadn’t worn off in the last few years, what might be considered the peak of his career by some. Yuri always scoffed and said he wasn’t there _yet_ . _‘More gold to win,’_ Yuri would insist.

After getting a drink of water Otabek made his way towards where the brief press conference would be held, but he wasn’t surprised to have been stopped on the way there for photos as well. He stood at Viktor’s side with the same stoic face as per usual; he still didn’t really see a point in smiling in photos. For the entirety of his career, this had sort of been his _thing_. Besides, if people wanted to see smiling photos, they could hunt for them. With a few moments before the press conference, the lingering journalists took the opportunity to ask some candid questions rather than waiting for a more structured format.

Otabek answered a few, short spoken as always, and letting Viktor pick up and entertain with his gracefully handled inquiries. It left Otabek mostly free to tune out a little, still replying in the appropriate places as he marinated in the feeling of success.

“…though I’m still not sure if my free program is up to par yet. I feel like it’s still a little below Yuuri’s for this season, in his most recent qualifier.”

Otabek blinked himself back into the conversation and turned towards Viktor. Without thinking, against what he tried his hardest to keep from happening, he inquired-

“Your Yuuri’s, or my Yuri’s?”

\--

Yuri gawked at the television openly as Otabek spoke to Viktor on the screen. He didn’t give a fuck that Katsuki was at his side with the same amount of bafflement, nor did he care that Mila was lounging around nearby lazily with a massive grin blooming. Watching Otabek get silver had filled his chest with warmth and pride for his boyfriend, ecstatic at his incredible performance. Seeing him in an interview afterward had been even nicer, even if he always thought Otabek looked too bored to be in them.

_“Your Yuuri’s, or my Yuri’s?”_

My Yuri.

It was just two words but it made his eyes widen and his hands grip at his knees.

Made his throat tight, cheeks warm.

Otabek Altin, possibly one of the _most_ reserved men Yuri Plisetsky had ever met in his fucking life, had just referred to him as ‘ _my Yuri’_ on live television, in the middle of an interview that was being broadcasted to Lord knew how many countries. They hadn’t even _acknowledged_ publicly that they were in a relationship, despite how long they had been now. They were happy to keep it quiet and entirely under wraps to avoid the same sort of pestering Viktor and Yuuri received but...

“Did he just-“

“Not a fucking word,” Yuri cut Mila off, a hand going up in her direction to silence her speech before she could even start. He could _feel_ her Cheshire grin and he wanted to smack it off. He wasn’t _angry_ at Otabek. The opposite, he realized. He would be annoyed with all the attention it would get, the fact that they would definitely need to address it.

But he was far from angry. Happy, even.

Fuck, he was very in love with the dumb Kazakh.

\--

“So, Beka,” Yuri grinned as he lounged on the bed. He looked up with playful eyes when Otabek came into the main section of the hotel room, sweatpants low on his hips and a towel scrubbing at the top of his hair. It was just slightly curled as it air dried, free from any sort of straightening or styling, and Yuri _knew_ it’d be soft. “ _Your_ Yuri?”

He felt the groan that was born on Otabek’s lips before it was released, and the Kazakhstani skater sat down on the edge of the bed, back facing where Yuri lounged towards the headboard. “I didn’t mean to say it,” Otabek protested. Neither of them had been particularly enthralled with the idea of being public about their relationship. They liked it to be between them, and so they didn’t post about it, didn’t bring it up and didn’t prompt people to ask any questions. The slip-up had done a good job of reigniting the many forum threads on whether or not they were together. There hadn’t been this much buzz from their fanbases surrounding the debate about their relationship since Otabek had moved to St Petersburg, or that one rogue Snapchat story post...

Otabek had known obviously that they were going to have to address it once they were back in the same place. That turned out to be Rostelecom, in Moscow, just over a week after the ordeal with the interview. The internet had been a firestorm. Yuri had turned off all of his notifications on every social media app and Otabek went as far as logging _out_ of his accounts, not interested in seeing the screaming posts analyzing the two-second clip from the interview. 

It had nearly 50 000 views on YouTube. Otabek’s mother had called him about it, and he had to awkwardly explain that _yes_ they were dating, and _yes_ he had been planning to tell her it just slipped his mind for the last _year-_

Otabek felt the hotel mattress shifting behind him, and soon after knew that Yuri was kneeling behind him. Slender – _cold;_ always cold but they were his so Otabek never minded – fingers ran up his back and to his shoulders, then finally pushed through his damp hair. He leaned into them, he always did, but the sigh he let out was apologetic. Yuri draped himself over the other and let his head come to lay against Otabek’s shoulder. He could feel Yuri’s breath, and eventually the other moved until lips came to rest against Otabek’s neck in a lazy kiss.

“I don’t care,” Yuri mumbled into his skin after a moment spent like that, and Otabek quirked a brow in response before he realized that Yuri couldn’t see that in their current position. He let out a hum instead, reaching up to rest his hand where Yuri’s had come to rest on his chest in an embrace. “Seriously, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I wasn’t sure if it was something you would be comfortable with,” Otabek told him, resisting the urge to shrug, lest it remove Yuri from his comfortable position. He could stay like that for an eternity.

“I mean,” Yuri started, and Otabek could nearly hear the laugh in his voice, “I am _your_ boyfriend. And we’ve been together a long time. People were going to find out eventually, especially since you’re my date to the wedding,” he mused. Otabek didn’t have any will to protest when the Russian started to pepper kisses along his neck and up towards his ear. “It’s whatever. I mean, I’m surprised you said it on live television but-“

“I didn’t _mean_ to say it on live television,” Otabek reasoned in his own defense, but Yuri kept on.

“-I thought it was charming, anyway. Mila yakked my fucking ear off about it and I didn’t think that Phichit was going to stop text-screaming for the rest of his life - I don’t even talk to the fucker more than I have to for the wedding.”

A beat of silence passed between them, though not uncomfortable. Yuri’s amusement reverberated throughout the hotel room and Otabek couldn’t decide yet if he wanted to join it or continue embracing the mortification he felt over the ordeal.Yuri’s lips continued leisurely kissing Otabek where he could reach; behind the jaw, his neck, his shoulder, his ear.

“I’ve been spending way too much time with Viktor,” Otabek said after a moment, and he was sure he could have _heard_ Yuri rolling his eyes were it not for the loud, unimpressed scoff directly into his ear. Not really sexy, definitely pulled him out of the pleasant feeling of the moment, but unapologetically Yuri Plisetsky.

“Please don’t make me think about Viktor of all people when we’re like this,” Yuri said, pressing a kiss to the shell of Otabek’s ear to prove his point further; a compromise for having assaulted it with such a nasty sound only moments ago. Otabek certainly couldn’t disagree with the notion.

“Sorry,” Otabek replied, though the amusement in his tone was there, and Yuri knew that he was only half sorry. Better than nothing.

“Good,” Yuri returned, arms wrapping around Otabek more tightly. His hands were pressed flat into his chest as he hugged himself to the other skater’s back. “Your Yuri would be sad otherwise,” he grinned, a laugh threatening on his lips that didn’t escape until Otabek let out a huff.

“Don’t make that a thing,” he near pleaded, letting his head fall backward against Yuri’s shoulder. His eyes were unimpressed as he looked up from where Yuri had a big grin maintained on his features.

“Oh babe, it’s a thing. Officially a hardcore _thing_ ,” Yuri spoke without missing a beat and Otabek couldn’t do anything but smile, despite his grief over the teasing that was sure to come. Taking advantage of Otabek’s head being tipped backward, Yuri leaned forward and managed to land a kiss on the other’s lips. When they separated from, a grin accompanied Yuri’s words, “Your Yuri thinks it’s cute.”

“ _Yuri,_ stop- _“_

It was a weak protest, they both knew it, and it trailed off before it could turn into anything more serious. If the devilish grin was anything to go by, Otabek was sure he only encouraged the other further.

“Stop? Or what?” Yuri was playing now, enjoying this _way_ too much, and Otabek couldn’t even be annoyed. “What’ll you do to _your Yuri?”_ he near purred the words as he leaned heavily into Otabek’s back, and Kazakh was still for a moment.

If that was the price of vague embarrassment was getting to see his lover filled with such amusement and glee, such a genuine sort of entertainment, Otabek would be glad to let his pride suffer through the payment.

He turned from where he had been sitting on the bed, untangling himself from Yuri’s embrace, before pushing the other back against the mattress with a looming grin.

\--

 **@yuri-plisetsky** _has tagged you in a photo_

 

> "thankful to be back with my babe in #Moscow for #Rostelecom #stillgonnakickurbutt #nicehickeybro **@otabek-alin** ”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this silly little oneshot! i saw the headcanon and i couldn't resist writing something lighthearted for it hahah
> 
> thank you for taking the time to read! if you wanna scream at my about things or send in a request, you can find me over on my tumblr [aphhun](http://aphhun.tumblr.com) ( *´ ∀ `*)


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